


Cave In

by VincentMeoblinn



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anderson being sweet, Asexual Sherlock, Cliche Plot, Come Eating, Eventual Johnlock, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Just one poem, Lestrade being a flirt, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Multiple Partners, Oral Sex, Pining, Poetry, Romantic Sherlock, UST, at the end, it's not that bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 11:19:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1264447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VincentMeoblinn/pseuds/VincentMeoblinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's suggestion to survive on a 'renewable resource' after he, Anderson, Lestrade, John, and Donovan end up trapped in a caved in mine results in changes in their relationships.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cave In

“Well, look on the bright side,” Sherlock sighed, “Three of you have a renewable resource to consume… unless Sally is lactating, of course.”

“I’m not even sure I want to know what you’re talking about,” John groaned, rubbing at his sore head.

“I’m _not_ pregnant,” Donovan snapped.

“I never said you were,” Sherlock replied, “Some women can…”

“Sherlock, _what_ renewable resource,” Lestrade cut them off.

“Semen,” Sherlock replied, “Though you’d expend calories to make it you’d at least get rid of that achy, empty feeling in your stomach.”

So saying Sherlock rubbed his own stomach uncomfortably. It had been two days since he’d last had more than tea and he was starting to feel it badly since there was no activity to distract him. It had only been a few hours since they’d fallen down a shaft in the old mine they’d been inspecting, but there was a good chance they wouldn’t be found for quite some time; possibly not ever. Sherlock was starting to feel guilty. It had been his idea to go down into the mine, after all, and now they had about a 36% chance of getting out alive.

“Are you actually suggesting we wank and eat our own spunk?” John asked, his revulsion clear in his voice.

“Suit yourself,” Sherlock shrugged, “It was just a suggestion.”

“What do you mean _three_ of us?” Anderson demanded to know, “ There are _four_ men here! Are you suggesting I’m impotent?!”

Anderson climbed to his feet, his face outraged in the dim light from the shaft above them, but Sherlock’s next words placated him before a fight could break out.

“Of _course_ you’re not impotent,” Sherlock scoffed, “As Donovan can well attest, I’m sure.”

“Well, _I’m_ not,” John snickered, turning to give Lestrade a grin, “So that means…”

“Oh, _hell_ no! There’s nothing wrong with my equipment!”

“I was referring to _myself_ ,” Sherlock scoffed, “Honestly, you lot are like primary school children.”

“You’re impotent?” John asked with real curiosity, “That actually explains a lot.”

The rest agreed with John, but Sherlock snorted and shook his head, holding up a hand to quell their discussion.

“I’m not _impotent_ , I’m _asexual_.”

“What’s the difference?” Anderson asked, “It still doesn’t _work_.”

“It _does_ work,” Sherlock replied, “I’m as prone to random erections as… well, not likely as often as any of you. They’re just automatic responses for me. There’s no desire behind them and I could count on one hand the amount of times I’ve masturbated to the point of ejaculation.”

“So you just ignore them?” John wondered.

“They don’t last long,” Sherlock shrugged.

“Have you had…” John started.

“ _Yes_ I’ve been examined by a doctor, John. There’s nothing _wrong_ with me.”

“Okay, alright, just checking,” John replied soothingly, “At least this explains why you’re so against me dating.”

“I’m not against you dating, John. I’m against you dating annoying morons.”

“Compared to you _everyone_ is a moron.”

“I’m glad you finally realize that,” Sherlock smirked.

“That doesn’t help us _now_ ,” Anderson complained, “His gigantic brain won’t get us out of _this_ mess. We can’t climb out, dig out, or get a signal to call for help! And _nobody_ knows where we are!”

“Well, look on the bright side,” John replied, “We can always sit here and eat our own spunk. Good times all around.”

Sherlock snorted and John snickered. Anderson got up in a huff.

“I’m going to do something _useful_ , like look for a way out of here!”

“Yeah, because none of us have done that,” John snorted.

“Maybe I’ll get a signal!” Anderson announced as he hurried towards the opposite wall and started pacing about with his mobile out.

“Anderson it was clear as day when we fell down here,” Sherlock sighed, “If we didn’t get a signal then, after pacing this entire place, we won’t get one now. Not unless you’re suggesting they’re born on the wind and it shifting will have helped.”

“There are such things as tower fluctuations…”

“I suggest you save the battery life in your mobile for when it gets dark out and we have _no_ source of light,” Sherlock replied, then winced and groaned in pain.

“Are you hurt?” John asked.

“A sprained ankle,” Sherlock replied, “I’ll be fine.”

John sighed, “Let me see it then. You and your ridiculous habit of not telling me when you’re hurt. I don’t get it. You haven’t got an issue with me treating you, obviously, so why? Is it an asexual thing? Do you not like to be touched at all?”

Sherlock scowled, “Asexual people are no different than sexual people, John. I have no less urges for emotional intimacy. I’m not aromantic, just asexual.”

John laughed, “You? Really?”

“I don’t indulge in it because people don’t _understand_. True, I’m also not an expressive person, but that’s not the issue. In a relationship I can be very emotionally responsive.”

“You’ve been in relationships?!” John asked, and everyone was paying attention now, clearly amazed at the idea.

“Once with a man, and almost with a woman. You know about The Woman. The gentleman I dated in University. Victor Travis.”

“I take it it didn’t last long,” Anderson sneered.

“I discovered some illegal activities his father was involved in. When I informed Victor after his father’s death he was furious with me. Our relationship ended rather badly,” Sherlock replied.

“You sound like you miss him,” John replied softly.

Sherlock opened his mouth to reply, but Anderson beat him to it, “Well it can’t have been a very _fulfilling_ relationship. I mean they couldn’t even have sex!”

“Of _course_ we had sex,” Sherlock growled out, “And it was very fulfilling! Just because _I_ don’t enjoy sexual stimulation doesn’t mean I’m incapable of making love!”

Everyone stared at Sherlock in shock, not sure what to make of that reaction. John hadn’t thought he’d ever hear words like those from Sherlock’s lips. ‘Making love’ simply wasn’t something an intelligent man did.

“But you didn’t enjoy it?” Anderson asked, this time his voice wasn’t argumentative, just curious.

“Of _course_ I enjoyed it. The same as you’d enjoy a cuddle with Sally. Or pleasuring her in any way.”

“So you enjoyed… pleasuring him,” John asked. Sherlock couldn’t see him well enough to know he was blushing, but he deduced he was.

“Yes, very much so. I loved him. I still do,” Sherlock laid his head back on the rocks behind him and shut his eyes, “I might have loved The Woman as well had she not already been politically compromised. There was no hope in that relationship, though it would have been ideal. She could get sexual satisfaction from others and then…”

Sherlock’s voice trailed off as he realized how much he was revealing to people who usually scorned and mocked him. He turned his head away in shame and stared off into the darkness of their rocky tomb.

“Then come home to you,” John finished, “I’m trying but I just can’t see you enjoying domestic bliss with anyone.”

“Can’t you? I do with you,” Sherlock scoffed.

John stammered and spluttered, “Sherlock… mate… we’re not… I mean, I’m flattered but…”

“I realize our relationship doesn’t mean to you what it does to me, John. It’s fine. It’s all fine.”

“I wouldn’t call that fine,” John replied anxiously.

Sherlock laughed bitterly, “Well, its hardly important _now_.”

“Bloody hell,” John sighed and sat down beside Sherlock, close enough that their shoulders were touching, “You’re my best friend, you know that, right?”

“Am I?” Sherlock asked in surprise.

“Of course,” John replied, nudging him slightly. They both grinned and Anderson awkwardly resumed his pacing while Donovan scraped on the ground with a stick and Lestrade grumbled in frustration.

“There _must_ be a way out!” Lestrade snapped, jolting to his feet.

“We won’t find it now anyway,” Sherlock replied, “We’re getting the last rays of light. In fifteen minutes or less we’ll be plunged into darkness and it will get far colder in here. I suggest we huddle together for warmth.”

Everyone grumbled about that, Anderson making an offensive joke about Sherlock wanting someone to cuddle, but they were soon all huddled together. Donovan had given up pretense and curled up between Anderson’s splayed legs beside Lestrade. Lestrade had thrown a friendly arm around Sherlock’s shoulders and smooched his cheek, drawing an annoyed grumble from him. John was on Sherlock’s opposite side and leaned against him with arms folded. Sherlock draped an arm around his shoulders and John shifted uncomfortably before relaxing into him. He crossed his legs at the ankle and was soon snoring away softly.

“Leave it to a soldier to be able to sleep despite miserable conditions and sexual anxiety,” Sherlock sighed.

“Shut up and sleep,” Lestrade grumbled.

Sherlock’s stomach growled. Loudly.

“When’s the last time you ate?” John asked, shifting awake at the sound.

“Don’t recall.”

“Don’t give me that.”

“Fuck’s sake, shut up!” Anderson barked, “I’m bloody tired!”

“C’mere,” John grumbled, and dragged Sherlock up to help him limp away from the others, “I figured your stomach isn’t the only thing you’re ignoring. Go ahead and piss.”

“John, you’re the epitome of understanding,” Sherlock sighed, struggling to get his fly open one handed while he leaned on John for support.

John waited in silence as Sherlock sighed and let go a stream into the darkness, when he was through he couldn’t get his fly up so John was obliged to hold onto his arm so he could struggle with it with both hands.

“Thank you,” Sherlock sighed.

“No problem, you want to tell me about any _other_ issues you’re not bothering to mention? Need a shit?”

“No, John, thank you,” Sherlock scoffed.

“Right then, about that… thing you mentioned,” John muttered, leading them a bit away by way of feeling along the walls. Their little enclosed space had a couple of short passages, one they’d been using as a toilet, the center that had light by day, and the other passage to get away from Sherlock when he was driving them crazy. It was this second passage John pulled him down now.

“What thing I mentioned?” Sherlock muttered, distracted by the pain in his ankle, “I mention lots of things.”

“The semen-eating thing.”

“Ah. That. What about it? I trust as a doctor you’re already aware it has no nutritional value.”

“Yes, well… I meant for you.”

“I can’t. We’ve covered that. Do pay attention.”

John helped Sherlock lean against a wall and they stood in silence for a moment.

“I meant what if you had mine?”

“Ate your semen? But it’s yours.”

“Yes, I know, but I’ve been tested recently and I know you haven’t eaten a damn thing in days besides coffee and tea so you’re going to be worse off than the rest of us.”

“Hm, I see your point.”

“Okay so… I’ll just… have a wank then.”

“Should I wait elsewhere?”

“No, the less you limp around the better. Just… give me a moment.”

John tugged his trousers down in the pitch-blackness and Sherlock found himself ardently wishing for a ray of moonlight bright as the sun. He’d never had an opportunity to see John naked _and_ aroused. True, it did nothing for him sexually, but it would provide him the seed for fantasies in which they were more than flatmates. As it was he listened with everything he had, trying to associate the sounds of his hands on his body with what he might be doing to himself. Somehow knowing how John pleasured himself was important to him. He heard the rustle of hair- him stroking along his bollocks where he had a substantial amount of hair. The stroke of his hand over the shaft with a slight rasp of breath at each upstroke- he was teasing the tip somehow. With his thumb? Did he round his hand over the top? No, the motion was too smooth for that. It must be the thumb. Would he like the slit played with? What about ass play? Would John like to be stroked along his taint and the back to his entrance with a damp digit, perhaps even fingered? Had he ever had his prostate stimulated internally? Most men had externally, but internally? As a doctor it seemed he’d be more open to the idea than the average heteronormative man.

“What are you thinking about?” Sherlock asked, needing to know.

“Damn it, Sherlock, I was close,” John sighed, “Don’t talk, okay? I’m trying to pretend you _aren’t_ standing there listening to me wank and deducing everything about it.”

“Sadly there’s very little to deduce without the use of three of my senses,” Sherlock sighed, “I can hear and smell you, but I can’t taste, touch, or see you.”

John suddenly reached out and grasped Sherlock’s wrist, pulling his hand forward and Sherlock’s eyes widened in the darkness as he felt his palm brush the tip of John’s cock. Then the man was coming into his cupped hand, a low grunt his only sound of pleasure in the echoing room.

“Sorry. It occurred to me at the last minute it would probably be a bit awkward for you to lick my hand off,” John chuckled.

Sherlock didn’t reply. He’d brought his hand to his face and sniffed it curiously. Of course, it just smelled like semen. Nothing special.

_Except that it’s John’s._

Sherlock licked his hand clean while John redressed and then waited impatiently.

“You done?” John asked.

Sherlock realized unhappily that he was. It had only whet his appetite, leaving his stomach stewing for more. It also had left his mouth feeling tacky and in need of a good brush and gargle. He wasn’t about to complain, though. John had fulfilled two basic needs by giving him his semen: he’d achieved sexual release and performed his duties as a doctor. John would sleep well despite their situation.

“Yes,” Sherlock replied neutrally.

“Feel any better.”

“A bit,” Sherlock lied.

“Okay. Let’s go, then. Here, lean on me.”

“Wait a sec,” Lestrade whispered, “My turn next. He’ll not last on your load alone, John. No matter how big a man you think you are.”

John snorted and left Lestrade and Sherlock to it. Lestrade was quick about it, coming into his hand after only a few minutes and then snickering as Sherlock licked it off of his hand. Sherlock giggled as well. It was all so damn ridiculous!

The surprised was Anderson showing up next, ignoring Donovan’s huffs of disgust from the central chamber.

“Look, I heard what John said and while I might not _like_ you, you’re still our best chance of getting out of here alive. So…”

Sherlock muttered an agreement into the darkness, but Anderson was silent and decidedly _not_ wanking.

“If you’re just going to stand there, then I’m going to call John back to…”

“Your mouth,” Anderson muttered.

“What?” Sherlock asked in shock.

“Your mouth.”

Donovan made an outraged sound and Lestrade gruffly told her to stay out of it, “Cheaters cheat, Sally. That’s what I’ve always told you.”

“But I’m right _here!_ ” She shrieked.

“It’s just faster this way!” Anderson shouted back.

“If you think you’re _ever_ touching me again after that _freak’s_ had his mouth on your prick you’ve got another thing coming!”

“Good, that’s a lot easier than breaking up with you!” Anderson snapped back.

“Oh for pity’s sake,” Sherlock snapped, “John! Come and help me back!”

“Yeah, alright,” John agreed, hurrying over.

“No, wait,” Anderson stammered.

“Piss off, Anderson,” Sherlock growled.

John helped him back and there was a great deal of shuffling as Anderson and Donovan refused to be near each other but didn’t know anyone else well enough to be snuggled against their sides; the order ended up being John, Sherlock, Anderson, Lestrade, and then Donovan. Finally they were all half-sitting, half-laying, pressed together in the growing chill. Everyone dropped off slowly, and Sherlock soon found himself the only one awake. John and Lestrade’s contributions had indeed stopped his stomach from screaming at him, but it still felt tightly pinched. He shifted miserably, squirming away from John as his age-old insomnia left him the lone tortured soul in the room. He wanted to lie down, as he had never been able to sleep sitting up, so he shifted about until his head was in John’s lap, nudging at Anderson until he shifted closer to Lestrade to give him the room. Then he felt Anderson shift behide him and slowly undo his zip.

“Come over here.”

“No.”

“Just put your head in my lap.”

“No.”

“You don’t get anything from it, you said so. I don’t see why _I_ can’t enjoy it.”

“You’re married.”

“Oh. Oh, you’re _not_ married! And Donovan doesn’t know you divorced your wife and failed to produce a ring for her!” Sherlock whispered, “No wonder you’re so eager to destroy your relationship with her.”

“It’s been over for some time,” Anderson muttered, “She just doesn’t want to admit it. She’s got someone else, anyway. She’ll be fine.”

“Of course she has. Dimmock is a rising star at the Yard. He’s a better match for her than you are.”

“Right then, you want this or not?”

“Not,” Sherlock replied, “But I’d be a fool to turn down any form of sustenance.”

Sherlock shifted about, aware of John being awake the entire time but unwilling to interrupt their awkward situation. Sherlock’s ankle twinged and he hissed in misery, so Anderson took the time to come to him instead. John was getting _very_ good at pretending to be asleep as Anderson planted a hand on the wall above John’s shoulder, straddled his knees, and leaned forward to press the tip of his cock against Sherlock’s lips.

“Are you clean?” Sherlock muttered at the last moment, feeling a drop of precome on his lip and suddenly doubting the wisdom of this situation.

“Most likely. I always use condoms. I’m _very_ careful.”

Sherlock sighed mentally. Condoms weren’t perfect and didn’t protect against _several_ illnesses. Still he had little choice, so he opened his mouth and received Anderson’s first greedy thrust. He quickly found himself having to fend off the man’s eager assault with one hand wrapped around his shaft as Anderson fucked his mouth fast and hard. This wasn’t like the other’s and their eagerness to get it over with, though. This was different. This was frantic enjoyment. Anderson was lost in the act, panting and whimpering loudly enough to wake up the rest of the occupants of the cave, who joined John in pretending to sleep out of sheer disgust.

Sherlock was surprised, and he didn’t surprise easily. All along he’d assumed Anderson hated him, but here he found by the man’s actions that his hatred had hidden a naughty little secret: Anderson had a crush on him. Not just a small one, either, as his grip in Sherlock’s hair revealed. He was clearly no longer in control of himself as he spilled down Sherlock’s throat.

“Yes, well…” Anderson whispered as he pulled back and did up his trousers with fingers that were _audibly_ shaking, “Let me know when you need more.”

“Certainly,” Sherlock replied, basking in the glow of rewarding chemicals flooding his system. True, he’d rather it was _John_ who had such feelings for him, but it didn’t eliminate the rewarding flood of oxytocin and that his brain pumped out at the knowledge that someone had both sexual and affectionate feelings for him. That and every human was programmed to feel a bit of relief after a sexual act, in this case triggered by the addition of semen into the body from one mouth, and after three such sex acts his brain was practically thrumming. Anderson staggered away and curled up between Sherlock’s arse and Lestrade’s side, dropping off to sleep. Sherlock was surprised to find himself doing the same.

The next few days were torture. Sherlock was weakening quickly and the rest were fairing only a bit better. They were able to drink water that trickled down the stone on one side of their little prison, and were lucky enough to have rain on the third day when their thirst was getting unbearable. They’d all knelt and licked at the rock desperately as the water poured down, but it had been a very cold and damp night sitting in the mud to make up for the relief in their parched throats. They’d done a lot of shouting as well, until they were hoarse and miserable, but nothing had come of it.

Each day John, Lestrade, and Anderson had contributed to Sherlock’s meal of semen. Lestrade had Sherlock lick off his hand while John continued to climax directly onto Sherlock’s palm and Anderson still insisted on blow jobs. Sadly on the fourth day the three men were incapable of an erection, which alarmed them until Sherlock explained it.

“You’re suffering from exhaustion, starvation, and dehydration. Your body is cutting off unessential processes. My mind is already suffering as well. I fear I’m no more intelligent now than you lot are on a regular basis.”

“You poor thing,” Lestrade grumped, his stomach growling miserably. Anderson stalked off in shame and Lestrade joined him with a sigh after giving Sherlock an apologetic clap on the shoulder. They were all in the central area as Sherlock was barely capable of moving anymore. It was now Donovan who was huddled in the second passageway.

“What about… I mean…” John struggled, keeping his voice low.

“You’re suggesting oral sex,” Sherlock stated, “It being more likely to produce arousal and ejaculation. I don’t mind trying, of course, but it may not work.”

John had nodded anxiously in the dim light and then lowered his fly again to present his limp member to Sherlock. Sherlock carefully sat himself up on his knees and inched forward. John’s cock was already plumping at the sight of Sherlock crawling towards him. It had to be psychologically induced.

“That’s good,” Sherlock stated frankly, his breath causing John’s cock to twitch, “You’ve still got some life in you down here.”

“Just… hurry.”

Sherlock took him into his mouth slowly, savoring the taste and scent. John, like all of them, had not been able to wash for three days now. Rather than stinking, the constant surrounding of mud and dirt had left him smelling a pleasing combination of musky and earthy, though it was quite strong. Sherlock sighed as he began to lap at the slit and applied a bit of suction to get John started. His cock filled readily enough and Sherlock was soon able to bob his head a bit. John’s breathing had picked up so Sherlock started to use every technique he knew to bring the man closer to climax as quickly as possible. The less John was allowed to think about this situation the better.

A hand tangled in Sherlock’s hair as John’s hips started to shift forward a bit. Sherlock cupped his heavily furred bollocks, pushing them upward a bit to encourage them to tighten. They responded admirably so Sherlock reached behind them to rub at John’s taint. He gasped and his hips shuddered as his orgasm rolled through him.

Sherlock swallowed the two meager drops that came into his mouth, lapping at the slit in the hopes of acquiring more, but the fact was that John was drained dry.

“Get some?” John panted.

“Yes,” Sherlock lied, “A surprising bit, actually. Thank you, John. I know what it was for you to submit to that.”

John chuckled, “Oh yeah, such a sacrifice getting my cock sucked.”

“You know what I mean,” Sherlock smiled.

“Yeah well… you too. I know this hasn’t been easy on you,” John replied, doing up his flies, “I just hope our friendship survives after we get out of here.”

“Assuming we get out of here.”

“We will. We’re getting out.”

“Sure,” Sherlock replied, and sank back down to the ground.

“Here, let me help you up,” John insisted, “You’ve got to need to piss or something.”

“No,” Sherlock replied, “Too tired. Not enough in me to piss.”

John sank down and pulled Sherlock’s head into his lap.

“You okay?” Lestrade asked in concern, heading over with Anderson and Donovan trailing behind him.

“No,” Sherlock replied, and let himself drift off to sleep despite the insistence from his companions that he stay awake.

When Sherlock opened his eyes next it was to the grating sound of an IV announcing it was empty. Sherlock scowled through the darkened room at the device by his hospital bed, blinking rapidly as the red and green lights irritated his eyes. A nurse came in, leaving the door open for lighting, but didn’t turn the switch at the door. Clearly they were aware that the occupants had suffered from light withdrawal for several days.

“How long?” Sherlock croaked, making her jump and nearly drop the bag she was hanging for him.

“You’re awake!” The nurse gasped.

“He’s awake?!” Anderson called out.

“I’m in a room with _Anderson?!_ ” Sherlock snarled, “This must be hell!”

“I’d think we were past all that, Sherlock,” Anderson snapped, “The least you can do is call me Philip!”

“Get out,” Sherlock snapped at the nurse, who hurriedly obeyed, but Anderson thought the words were for him.

“No! This is my room, too!”

“Where’s John? Lestrade?” Sherlock demanded to know.

“A different room,” Anderson replied, “I saw them yesterday. They’re both fine. So is Sally, if you cared.”

“I didn’t,” Sherlock lied. Anderson scoffed.

The silence that followed could only be counted as awkward. Anderson broke it, of course, because there was no way in hell Sherlock was going to speak first before hell froze over.

“Can we… do something after this? I could take you out to dinner sometime?”

“No.”

“To bed?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re not my type.”

“John doesn’t want you.”

“I’m married to my work. It wouldn’t be smart for two cheaters to date, don’t you agree?”

“I’d be faithful to you.”

“I’m sure Sally and your wife both thought the same thing.”

“I broke it off with Sally first.”

“No, you _used me_ to break it off with Sally. There’s a difference. I detest being used.”

There was a pause and then, “I’m sorry. I just… I wanted a shot with you so I took it.”

“I realize that. As John so clearly pointed out, this event will have changed all of our relationships.”

“Do you think he and you will be friends still?”

“I don’t know,” Sherlock replied, surprised at his honestly.

“Do you think we can be?”

Sherlock was silent for so long that Anderson shifted on his side of the curtain. Sherlock watched his form roll over and heard him mutter a goodnight.

“Yes,” Sherlock decided.

He could practically _feel_ Anderson’s smile.

It was several more hours before Sherlock got to see John again, and when he did the man’s relief was palpable.

“You were unconscious for over a day, Sherlock,” John told him anxiously, “It was a storm that got us out finally. There were these intense winds and a huge tree branch got wedged in the entrance of the mines. Lestrade put me up on his shoulders and I used it to pull myself out. By the time I got help and they came back our little hole in the ground was flooded. Anderson and Greg were holding you up between them to keep you from drowning. The mud was up to their knees and the water to Greg’s waist!”

“Donovan?”

“They’d pushed her out an hour after they’d done so for me, but before they could get anyone else out the branch broke. She went to get help but passed out on the way. It took the rescuers another hour to find her. She’s got pneumonia so they moved her to a different ward. It’s bad, but they think she’ll recover.”

“Anyone else bad off?”

“Just you,” John replied, reaching across the bed and grasping his hand, “You’ve been out another eight hours since we got to the hospital. Exposure.”

“Hmm, yes.”

“You’re feeling well? Not lying to the doctors?”

Sherlock smiled, “I feel much better. Very tired, but that’s to be expected.”

“I’m being released today,” John informed him, “I’ll make sure there’s a fresh meal when you get home tomorrow.”

Sherlock smiled and nodded, saddened when John pulled his hand away and stood on shaky limbs to leave. His actions had been more comradely than intimate. Sherlock watched John head out the door with a heavy heart.

 _Perhaps I should take Anderson up on his offer. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t lonely from time to time. John can’t always be with me, and it_ is _cruel to keep ruining his dates. He shouldn’t be lonely either. Perhaps that’s what they mean when they say if you love someone you’ll let them go. I’ve at least had a taste of him- quite literally- perhaps it’s time to let him be_ just _the friend that he’s always been._

Several months passed and everything settled quickly back into routine. John and Sherlock solved crimes, John blogged about it, John and Lestrade went out for drinks, and to everyone’s shock Sherlock and Anderson went out for drinks, too. The two new friends argued over crime scene analysis and it was noted at the Yard that Anderson’s skills improved considerably. Their relationship, much to Anderson’s disappointment, remained warm but not intimate in any way.

Then a day came that changed everything between Sherlock and John. They were sitting on the couch watching a movie, while Sherlock did his best not to drive John mad by shouting at the telly, when the two leads began to snog passionately. The man and woman quickly moved from one room to the next, stripping off their clothes while making obscene noises. Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes while John shifted as he became aroused.

“It’s clearly been too long since you last got off,” Sherlock scoffed, indicating the screen, “If _this_ drivel is doing it for you.”

“That bloke looks a bit like you.”

“Who?”

“That one. The actor.”

“Tom Hiddleston? I suppose. We both have high cheekbones and fantastic hair… what does that matter?”

“You really don’t get all this, do you?” John asked in surprise, “Do you _never_ feel aroused?”

“Not sexually, no.”

“You feel aroused in other ways?”

“Intellectually, emotionally, physically in a non-sexual way.”

“Ah… explain that last one?”

“My skin… tingles,” Sherlock tried, screwing up his face in frustration, “And I want to touch the person who makes it so.”

“But it doesn’t get you off?”

“Not sexually, no. I do feel satisfaction on multiple levels: mentally, emotionally, and chemically.”

“Okay that’s… good. I suppose.”

“Quite good,” Sherlock nodded, “Now explain why him looking like me has anything to do with the coversation. Are you implying I’d only be aroused by _myself_? Because that is _not_ what asexuality is about.”

“Cave in,” John stated.

“What?” Sherlock asked.

“Cave in, it’s the last time I… bloody hell, Sherlock. Deduce me.”

Sherlock paused, pushing his frustration in the conversation aside and took a good look at John. His pupils were blown, his member hard and tenting the front of his sleep pants, his breathing fast, his face flushed, and his eyes… were entirely focused on Sherlock.

“Oh… Oh! Cave in! You mean… yes. Yes, of course,” Sherlock babbled, and all but launched himself at John.

They sank down in the couch, kissing and tugging at close in a ridiculous mirror image of the morons on screen but a moment ago. Sherlock moaned in bliss as John’s hands stroked along his hips while John whimpered in need. He was hard and aching between them so Sherlock wrapped his hand around that hard shaft and stroked it firmly.

“Yes!” John cried out, writhing in desire before finding a position comfortable to him, planting his feet, and beginning to thrust up into Sherlock’s hand.

“That’s it, John,” Sherlock breathed, “Come for me. Come _all over me_.”

“Oh gods, that voice!”

John gasped, and then he was pulsing in Sherlock’s hand, his body clenching as pleasure rendered him silent and still. Sherlock memorized every facet of this moment before leaning down to lap at his come splattered chest and abdomen. John’s chest hair clung to his tongue but he ignored it until he was done, picking out the hairs from his mouth while he smirked at a very satisfied lover.

“That was… wow.”

“Yes,” Sherlock nodded, then added hopefully, “Perhaps next time you’d like to be inside me.”

John nodded, then sat up a bit and glanced awkwardly down between Sherlock’s legs. His member hung limp and unaffected, but Sherlock drew John’s chin back up with the gentle press of a finger.

“The results of our coupling are _here_ , John; in my eyes. Not between my thighs.”

“Poetry?” John laughed.

“Something like that,” Sherlock smiled, “A poem I wrote in secondary school when I first discovered I was asexual- well, once I’d accepted it. For a time I was ashamed of my body and it’s decided lack of interest in anyone. Now I know that I _am_ interested, just not in the same way. I wrote it while pining for someone to love, but knowing no one who could peak my interest at the time.”

“Tell it to me?” John asked, settling back and pulling Sherlock down on top of him.

Sherlock tugged a blanket on top of them and they arranged themselves, with Sherlock’s head on John’s good shoulder and a smile playing at both their lips. When they had managed to get comfortable Sherlock took a breath and recited.

 _“I used to dream of hardened shafts,_  
that flowed with nectar bitter.  
I used to breathe and hold my breath  
hoping to thaw my body’s winter.

 _Then I recalled your arms round mine,_  
and the way you called my name.  
I finally knew that love was true,  
and that none of us felt it the same.

 _The results of our coupling are here,_  
my love, hidden deep inside my eyes.  
While others look for evidence,  
which is not found between my thighs.

 _Know me and I shall know you,_  
feel my heart and not my cock.  
Grasp my mind inside your hands,  
and know true love is like a rock.”

“Ohhhh,” John breathed, “I had no idea my heart could climax.”

“I did,” Sherlock smiled softly, pressing a kiss to John’s chest as the man’s arms tightened around him.


End file.
